Curse of Speech
by StarsOfYaoi
Summary: *Germania, Rome* This is the reason why Germania never speaks. And since we're there, also the story of how the Roman Empire fell. Warning: Crack ahead.


**SOY:** let's get cracked. Germania speaking like Poland crack shot to fill a kink meme request. Please do enjoy…

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**Rating**: PG–ish

**Warnings:** Rome.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia. But I love working through fanfics of it.

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**Curse of Speech**

**One–shot**

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Germania didn't quite remember when he had found out about his curse.

It must have been early, during the first fifty or so years, or something, because he could only vaguely remember the faces of the people around him –judging him? not understanding him? a bit of both, he guessed.

He used to be a cheery child, once. Well, not really cheery, but he liked to chat up with people. Well, ok, not chat up. He liked to kick people in the shins for not listening to him, and then he'd proceed to out-drink them. Yes, he could do that, because despite being young, he could stand alcohol.

Anyway.

One of his dreams, when little, and running around to conquer things, was to become great and respected.

Which brought him to think once again of his curse.

Oh, his curse. The ban of his existence. The most horrible thing right after seeing Rome going at it with three women and two men in the council room three weeks prior. The most horrible thing before watching Rome flirt and be actually flirted with back by some random girl who really didn't know better.

No, Germania had it worse.

He was tall, with a beautiful mane of (manly) blond hair, a strict expression, a strong built, strength to recon with…

And a curse of speech.

Because beware, world of antique, Germania, whom had grown to be a respected and feared Nation, the only one who could protect and feel equal to Rome (which was… uh, not that much of a feat, at least not for those who _knew_ Rome), the one who was strict and yet benign…

Yeah, all of that…

Had a curse of _speech_.

Germania didn't know what the speech was about. Why it happened to him, or what to do exactly with it… back then, when younger, he had ignored people staring strangely at him every time he opened his mouth, ignored how they kept underestimating him (which was quite good, all considered), how they snobbed him when he spoke.

The horror.

The pain of his childhood!

At least until he realised what was wrong. Not understanding why his speech patterns could change so much how people looked at him, in the end he had decided to just let it go.

But alas, that time was _gone_, forgotten.

Germania, nowadays, never spoke much. Don't speak –it won't trigger the curse. That was his best advice to himself.

He could still remember that faithful day, when a young commander, a human, had reached out to him, eyes blazing with admiration, asking him for advice about whether to attack his opponent on a field, backed up by his troops, or do a one–on–one, alone with his opponent…

Germania had blinked, opened his mouth to share his wisdom with the young human and…

"Well, I'd totally attack him on my own, like, I mean, wouldn't it be so un–classy, to show I cannot move without my sidekicks? Because that's, like, totally sucky, yeah, and I'd surely, TTL pw0n him".

Oh, he could still remember the human's face –the horrid sensation that something was wrong, and that the commander would never be able to look at him in the face for the rest of his mortal life. And Germania, too, found it hard to watch himself in the mirror, knowing how his speech patterns controlled his life.

In the first period it had been hard, because inwardly he twitched every time he had to stop himself from talking too much. A couple of words were ok, he could control it. But more? No, then the curse came into action, and everything was lost.

Things didn't really matter since he got higher up in positions, climbing the ranks of military without problems (and still talking as little as possible). God forbid anyone who asked him too much –they'd find themselves killed in no time at all.

Unfortunately, Rome was still ranking higher than him, and it posed a problem –_Rome wanted to talk to him_.

"Hey, Germania, had a good day?" cheerful, brash, loud –the kind of person Germania detested with all of his somewhere–residing heart.

"… yes".

Good, keep it short.

"Aww, you're such a spoilsport, Germania! Liven up a bit! I need your next report on our enemies! And then, I'll bring you out to drink!"

"No" he took a deep breath, his lips already twitching, words almost passing through them, until he restrained them, finally managing out a huffed "Thanks, no".

He fished out the stack of documents on tablets that Rome wanted, grunted at him, and thrust them in his hands, turning around.

He didn't even want to _look_ at that man.

His mere presence made him so angry and frustrated, and–

"Say, come on~ you have to be able to say something more than just a few words!" and there he was, Rome poking his side. "I bet you are just a prude! I bet you'd need alcohol to loosen up… or maybe get laid" he added as an afterthought.

Germania felt like spluttering in indignation, but restrained himself, knowing it would only put more strain on his silence. Rome was someone he had to live with, someone he (_grudgingly_) respected, someone as strong as he was…

There was no way he would let himself on that secret –given one week, the whole of the Continents would know –and then no one would ever let him be in peace. Ελλάδα would laugh her ass off, as would that wild beauty living in that small island in the north, who only came around to run from them, taunting them.

Not to mention Kemet. She still was hung over the small territorial feud going on with his humans, and she would never let him live it down, if she knew.

Unfortunately for Germania, whilst he was busy complaining to himself about his lack of fortune, Rome had grabbed him by the elbow and was happily pulling him out of the tent. "You _do_ need more fun! Let's go!"

Germania just knew it wouldn't be long until his complete demise, not after actual years spent avoiding Rome.

……………

Rome was pissed.

Severely pissed.

He had never been more pissed –except that time when Germania had walked on him whilst he was having his orgy fun with those three hot, sweaty and wild girls and the two firm, sculpted men… and did not join in.

And maybe that other time when he had tried to make Germania jealous by flirting with that girl, who had happily flirted back, so of course Rome had to do her, but in truth he just wanted a reaction out of Germania.

That man was stoic.

Anyway, Rome was pissed.

He had tried everything he could to make Germania talk more –he'd attempted sending beautiful girls in his bedchambers, then boys, then a rarely acquired hermaphrodite…

None of those had been accepted, being all sent back with no thanks.

Then, Rome had tried bothering him. Anyone else cracked under the pressure of Rome's insistent babbling, but Germania had resisted, ignoring him and uttering as few words as he could.

It was unnerving!

Germania had been serving as his guard for more than a century now, and yet, their relationship, although close, did not include speeches. The long, friendly chats he liked to have with all the people he considered friends.

Not that they didn't communicate well enough –they could have silent conversations only using gestures and looks, but…

Rome wanted to crack Germania up.

If nothing had worked, he would try loading the man with wine. Fine, delicious wine –not the disgusting thing about malt that Germans were so keen at drinking, no…

Wine.

Gods' nectar.

Two entire barrels of wine gone down the drain that was Germania's stomach, without a single twitch, nor a sign that he was stumped.

That man was made of steel.

Rome had swallowed down three on his own, and was just tipsy, yes, but he was used to the wine… he could go up to five and only then get the full effects.

Currently, Germania was sipping at one cup, glaring at whatever poor soul was unfortunate enough to get close, and apparently held no desire to bare his soul out… but Rome didn't care. Downing half of the fourth barrel in a series of quick motions, he felt the rush of the alcohol give him a boost. "Oi, M' friend!"

He tumbled over to Germania, who turned to stare at him with cold eyes.

"Havn't had 'nouth?"

Germania regarded the flushed face of his commander, and once again wondered how had this Nation gained such an important, sought after fame.

He didn't look like much.

The alcohol in his body, as he'd feared, had acted as a lulling liquid of sorts in his system, making him feel more relaxed and prone to talk –thankfully, he had mastered control when drunk enough to prevent any talking from happening.

So, he simply pushed at Rome's shoulder and growled, sipping down more wine. He wanted this over with and back to his tent.

"I told you, Germania, you really need to unwind and… relax" Rome was in for the prize, this time. He could clearly see, now, how flushed those cheeks of the blond man were.

He was closer, and he was inwardly dancing happily.

Germania, on his own thought he was keeping up quite fine. Ignoring Rome and all that jazz, keeping his bowl filled and downing the liquid, which turned out to be better than he thought, after the… third or fourth barrel?

"Come on, pal, let me hear one of your awesome stories, I am sure you slaughtered many enemies with that strength of yours".

Down went another cup of wine.

"Are you really that much of a prude?"

"…"

More liquid down his throat, Rome refilling his cup again…

Coming closer still. And closer.

Unfortunately, Germania didn't see the glint in Rome's eyes until it was too late, and by then, the man was already shifting almost over him, ugly huge lips pursuing as they got closer to Germania's face… closer…

"Omaigawd just, bleah! _Stop_ right now!"

And Germania was aware that this was his voice pouring from his lips, but the devastating image of Rome trying to pull closer to… dear Gods, _kiss_ him… oh, damn it all.

It was a good way to unwind, and a part of him found out he didn't really care –obviously, the part of him that did care was gone, buried underneath a thick layer of wine.

His face twisted in an ugly grimace, Germania _pushed_. Hard. Then, as an addition, he punched Rome in the face, feeling his cheeks flush in shame and anger.

The other man fell on the floor, probably more shocked about what Germania had said than anything else.

Deep, wide brown eyes looked up at him in astonishment.

"It's just, like, totally _disgusting_, pal" Germania stood, vaguely wobbling, and pushed his hair out of the way in a motion he would have probably resented, had he been any less tipsy. "Just, _urgh_" he made a waving motion and placed both arms on his hips. "One thinks they can, like, stay on their own, and then puff? Jerks like you totally pull up. Like, a total crash".

He harrumphed, shaking his head with a motion that would have made somebody (not sure who) proud, had there been other people but men, mostly drunk but not all of them were, around at the time.

Unfortunately, Germania knew he had stepped where he had tried not to step on since the very start.

And it was all Rome's fault.

"You know, you should so, like, tie your pants in a knot and just go, I mean, fuck yourself" Germania growled, trying to look intimidating and failing miserably due to the words spilling from his tight lips, inwardly knowing he was just digging his own grave but unable to stop.

And Rome kept staring at him, as if assisting at a crowd of gladiators crashing against wild beasts.

"I mean, like, who the hell made you God? Really, _Rome_" Germania's deep voice didn't make it any easier for him. It _was_ like watching a massacre. "Couldn't you just let me go, and, like, shut up? No, Mr. Strong Nation just had to totally blow up" waving his arms in the air (strong, manly arms that could have grabbed a wild boar and killed it with a single motion), the massacre continued. "And I, like, cannot keep my privacy to myself anymore, like, it's so totally stupid from you, also, gawd, considering your un–fabulous lewd ways".

A small pause to sip at the wine, almost considering that he was truly more wasted than he had thought he was, then the hazy eyes shifted at Rome again.

"You know what? You can, and I assure you, like, completely, like, whoa, go fuck yourself –I know you'd utterly love it and urgh, you know what? Wha–te–ver~"

And turning around, Germania stomped out from the door, clearly swaying from one side to the other. And although his speech patterns, which were hard to understand but just as shocking as a herd of goats chirping like birds, demanded a swaying of hips and polished nails, he had never looked manlier as he slammed his foot on the door, destroying the wood in many splinters flying everywhere.

The room had fallen into a dead silence.

Rome let his head crash on the ground, gurgling.

……………

The morning afterwards, after a pained wake, with a strong headache and after realising what had happened, Germania left Rome's army and convinced his allies to start a campaign against Rome –to start a long, painful war… all to make Rome pay.

Pay for the hangover.

Pay for the years of abuse he had suffered –for every bit of innocence (it didn't matter he was a warrior who'd seen and practiced death and maiming for almost a millennia) he lost when he saw Rome going at it with someone.

Pay for the embarrassment.

But most of all, pay for having forced him to talk.

Germania just _knew_ how to keep a grudge.

……………

And then Germania moved. Fought. Brought Rome down. Travelled far, fought more, met people…

And managed to not utter a work more than what was strictly necessary ever again.

Didn't feel a single twinge of guilt, but mere pleasure when he finally reduced the once giant Empire into nothing, laughing his ass off and thinking how Rome deserved it.

And was satisfied of it all.

Not knowing that somewhere in the far East, away from his territories, away from his conquered power, away from them all, born from connections with Germania no one would have ever known about, much less dared to think or come up with (or recognised), a young, clueless baby had just intertwined his chubby, little arm with that of a brown haired boy, and had chirped happily at him "you're like, totally going to be my best friend, Liet!"

And seconds later "ohmaygawd is that a _pony_?!"

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**StarsofYaoi:** I know it sucked. I know it wasn't funny. And I know I wrote the valley girl speech like an idiot. I'm sorry about that, but the idea wouldn't have left my mind, so I had to get it out.

_Ελλάδα:_ (Ellada) historically Hellas, meaning Greece. Ancient Greek term for Greece. Wow, original. That's the name I gave to Greece's mom.

_Wild beauty:_ is referring to England's mom. (at the time, Britannia's mom)

_Kemet:_ (black terrain) ancient term used to refer to Egypt. Comes from the fertile terrain the Nile offered its people. That's the name I gave to Egypt's mom./small


End file.
